Full Credits

Stats & Data

December 21, 2011

I'm busy, I'm sure you're busy, we're both here so we obviously have lost a little hope in finding whatever the fuck it is we're looking for organically, so let's cut through the bullshit and let me tell you all the reasons you probably don’t want to date me to save us both some effort.


They say honesty is the best policy. With that in mind, I created my first ever online dating profile. Can't wait for the dates to start pouring in!

I’m busy, I’m sure you’re busy, we’re both here so we obviously have lost a little hope in finding whatever the fuck it is we’re looking for organically, so let’s cut through the bullshit and let me tell you all the reasons you probably don’t want to date me to save us both some effort.

I have kids. Two of them. They’re young and awesome, but get one drop of sugar in them and you’re dealing with a feeding-Gremlins-after-midnight situation. Do you have kids? That’s cool. I can work with that, but I’ll probably judge your parenting style and will constantly think in my head how superior my children are.

On the plus side, my little guys both have the same baby daddy, so if we get serious, there’s only one dude you have to engage in awkward interactions with.

Still interested? I have cats. Plural. Two of them. They’re older than the kids and will probably die soon, but they like to investigate any visitors to my bed at the most inopportune moments. Even if they stay at bay, if you have to piss in the middle of the night, you’ll come face-to-face with the litterbox in my master bath. There really was no other spot in the house for it.

Not so bad, right? I should also mention that I’m a workaholic, so I hope you don’t mind me staring at a computer. Oh, and my job requires I travel a lot, often at last minute’s notice. I’m going to cancel plans. I KNOW I promised I’d be your date for dinner with your CEO, but I have to go to Wyoming. Can’t you take your sister?

When I’m not building forts, stepping in forgotten hairballs, traveling the country or typing furiously on my laptop into the early-morning hours, I’m staring at my phone. I’ll be honest, it’s an addiction and if there were a rehab, my family would have had me committed long ago. You’ll get to hear  about an online world I’ve created through Twitter and all the characters in it. I talk to people I recognize only as cartoons, dogs and stop signs and spend so much time there, I often differentiate my worlds by using the terms “real life” and “real people.” You’re a real person and if we get to the point where I’m telling my friends about you, I’ll tell them “I met a real guy.” You’ve always related to Pinocchio, right?

I’ve spent so much time on Twitter, that I’ve begun thinking in tweet, and spout out random 140-character thoughts as they come to me. If you’ve never heard someone drop the terms “followers, retweet, @ reply, unfollow and Twittercide” often, I’m going to sound like a crazy person. Oh, and I’m friends with people I’ve met there. I’ve dated guys I met there. What kind of crazy person sleeps with people they met on Twitter? This one, that’s who. My online friends are my best friends, actually. If I like you, you can meet them. If I REALLY like you, you’ll get to come to tweetups. Don’t worry, my Internet won’t murder you. I think.

Come along, the train wreck continues! I’m a comic, so yes, everything you say and do can and will be used against you on stage in hopes I can make strangers laugh. Prematurely ejaculate? I bet I can turn that into a solid two-minute bit. Hope you don’t mind the girl you adore talking in detail about blowjobs and period blood in a public setting. Related: I have the goddamn mouth of a fucking sailor. Oh, almost forgot! Comedy is mostly a man’s world so I’m always surrounded by dudes. Most of my friends are guys, and you’re right, they’re probably friends with me in hopes I’ll get drunk and sleep with them. I get hit on. A lot. And while I act like it’s a burden and I want people to just like me for me, don’t let it fool you, I eat every fucking second of it up. So, even though I hang out and text constantly with dudes who want to bang me, don’t be jealous. I don’t like jealous, although I reserve the right to be jealous if an ex I deem pretty says as much as “Happy Birthday” on your Facebook wall. DO YOU THINK SHE’S PRETTIER THAN ME?!?

Still on board? Well, let me tell you about the grab bag of emotional damage you’re reaching into. I talk incessantly. I’ve tried to shut the fuck up. Not something I’m capable of. It’s cute in the beginning, my nervous rambling, but at some point I’m sure you’ll be thinking, “Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!” over and over in your head. You better be fucking listening, too, because my feelings will be butthurt if you miss something important.

I’m also hyper as fuck. I make a 10-year-old who missed a dose of Ritalin look calm. I take Adderall, but it really just focuses my 200-mile-per-hour train of thought in one direction, puts rails beneath the barreling locomotive. I hope you can keep up with tangents and don’t mind being interrupted. I also welcome your interruptions and tangents. Linear conversation is so 1950.

I’m a smoker with big dreams of quitting that I don’t see myself actualizing anytime soon. I smell, I taste gross. That really cool, important story you’re telling? Can you either put it on hold or come outside in the 18-degree rain with me because I am having a nic fit and will kick a puppy if I don’t go NOW.

I have serious trust issues. I’ve been hurt. I’m sure you have, too, but we’re talking about me now. We’ll do that a lot. I’ll overthink and question everything to the point it drives me mad until I feel comfortable trusting you, although I rarely reach that point with anyone. If an hour passes without you answering my text, just know I’ve envisioned 28 different scenarios of you fucking other women. You may be taking a nap, but I’m picturing you in the back of the postal truck with the mail lady.

And while I’m not high maintenance in that I like gifts, being wined and dined and taken on romantic getaways, don’t think I’m not a lot of work. I need attention. A ridiculous amount of it, but be careful about giving me too much or I’ll feel smothered and be over you in a shorter period of time than it takes me to flip the channel when The 700 Club comes on.

Speaking of, I’m an atheist, and while I’m tolerant of other people’s beliefs, just know I lost respect for you when you began asking an imaginary dude for favors, aka praying. I will only go to church if someone gets married, dies or if, for some reason, they’re selling Manolo Blahniks way cheap from the altar.

There’s a few positives about me that help outweigh all the crazy, but I’ll let you figure those out on your own, that’s the fun part, the getting to know each other. I mean, finding out someone you’re interested in was once awarded a Best Ass trophy is a way better surprise than anything I wrote about here. Let’s keep the surprises fun.

Oh, and just know, since you’re still interested after reading all this, I’ll assume it’s because you saw my photo and think the risk is worth it to get your dick wet. Happy Dating!